


Form 8938

by Renaerys



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Brick Supremacy, F/M, Merry Simpmas y'all!, NSFW, for real this is very NSFW so please read at your own discretion, i bet you thought paying taxes couldn't possibly be sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renaerys/pseuds/Renaerys
Summary: Blossom returns home after a very late night spent working, only to find Brick still awake working on their tax return. She decides to help...
Relationships: Brick/Blossom Utonium
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	Form 8938

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Genovah_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genovah_7/gifts).



> I was Gen’s Secret Santa this year, and she wanted some steamy Reds! And what could be steamier than a dude who files his taxes on time?? Beyond that detail, this is pretty much a PWP because we’re on vacation and it’s time to simp hard, lads. Since Blossom can’t be doing all the work all the time, enjoy some Brick Supremacy. 👀🍷

Brick was angry.

Blossom could tell from the way he said “It’s fine” when she apologized: like he was appraising the mediocre fifteen dollar table wine a guest brought to dinner to be polite. She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave behind him: 12:24 a.m. Yes, it was very late for a Wednesday. Her client was hoping to close an eighty million dollar Series D financing in the morning, and Blossom was all but fending for herself and the junior associate she’d sent home early out of sympathy for the girl’s personal life. Must be nice to have one of those lately.

“I _am_ sorry,” she apologized again, dropping her bag in one of the empty chairs at the kitchen table where Brick was hunched over his laptop and a scattering of paperwork and receipts. She brushed her long, red bangs out of her face. “We’re closing tomorrow. It’s always herding cats at the eleventh hour.”

“I said, it’s fine.” Brick busied himself organizing papers that didn’t need organizing and didn’t look up at her. There were lines under his eyes. His tie was missing, and his collared shirt was aggressively unbuttoned as though he was too hot. His short hair was mussed. He looked tired, yet determined. He looked like he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight until their tax return was finally finished.

Blossom appraised him, considering. It was late. She was exhausted. A hot shower beckoned her out of her high-waisted skirt. But she felt a warm flutter down her spine at the sight of his fingers gripping his hair, a pen tucked behind his ear, and all this work he insisted on doing himself because it needed to be done _right_. If he was going to be up, he might as well be up with company.

She plucked the pen from behind his ear and chewed on the cap as she pulled the nearest document toward her. “Instructions for Form 8938,” she read the bold, black typeface and quickly scanned the first page. “Foreign financial assets.” She glanced at Brick, who watched her over his laptop. “I take it this is the first year you’ll be reporting your offshore accounts.”

“I’d rather not get nailed for tax fraud, of all the things.”

“How romantic.” She examined the report he’d begun filling out in his neat script. “Says here there’s a seventy-five percent penalty for fraudulent underpayment.”

“Fraud is hard to prove.”

She held his gaze. “Not that hard.”

The challenge hung over the kitchen table between them. Brick closed his laptop with a _click_. Blossom returned her attention to the IRS instruction printout and ignored the skip in her heartbeat.

“Let’s see.” Blossom leaned over the printed out instructions and Form 8938 itself neatly stacked next to them. “Line 3, Specified Individual…” She took a moment to review the defined term in the instructions and smiled to herself. “Married, filing jointly.” She checked the appropriate box.

The sound of Brick’s chair sliding across the hardwood floor and his footsteps coming around the table stirred something in the pit of her belly, but she didn’t look up, feigning total focus on her task.

“Part I. Foreign Deposit and Custodial Accounts Summary,” she read aloud. Splayed across the table in tidy piles were more print-outs: bank statements in English, French, and Spanish from a number of different institutions around the world. She selected the nearest one for an account in the Cayman Islands and stared for a long time at the healthy balance summary.

A sudden flush of heat hit her back through her silk blouse, and she shivered. He was right behind her. “I already did the math, over there.” Brick’s hand closed over hers and pushed it to a notepad full of his handwritten calculations. Blossom followed the parade of numbers to their robust summation, and she bit her lip. “Do you need me to check it?”

His voice was a murmur very close to her ear. “I already did.”

_Of course he already did._

When his other hand found its way under the hem of her skirt, Blossom’s breath hitched. His fingers were unconscionably warm as they swept over the back of her thigh.

“What’s next?” he asked.

Blossom pressed her lips together to keep silent as his brazen fingers crept higher up her thigh beneath her skirt and his other hand pulled her bangs from her face.

“Next?” she asked, intensely focused on his thumb brushing the bottom curve of her ass.

He tucked her bangs behind her ear and pressed his lips to the shell. “You promised you’d help with the taxes.”

Goddamnit, she had promised that.

Returning her attention to the Form 8938 instructions, Blossom read aloud: “Part III. Summary of Tax Items Attributable to Spe—” She cut herself off in a breathy gasp when Brick pressed two fingers against her sex.

“Attributable to…?” His voice gave away nothing.

Blossom clenched her fist to get her bearings. He didn’t move his fingers at all, which was downright petulant of him. The instructions swam in her vision, and it took all of her willpower to resume reading. “Attributable to Specified Foreign Financial Assets.” 

His breath was warm at her neck, but his fingers were warmer as they hooked around the edges of her panties and dipped into her heat. Blossom went slack-jawed and closed her eyes. The urge to close her thighs and keep him there where she needed him most was almost overwhelming.

“Enter the following assets,” Blossom managed over the slippery sound of his fingers shifting.

“Can you be more specific?” Brick spoke for confirmation, because he was as pedantic as he was attractive.

Blossom moved her pen to the first line item: “Interest,” she said.

His hand in her hair yanked hard, and she hissed.

“Dividends,” she breathed.

He pressed a kiss that was more teeth than lips to the tender flesh behind her ear.

“Royalties—ah!”

Brick’s slick fingers pulled out and swept over her clit, and her elbows gave out along with her voice. Her body writhed, but the hand in her hair anchored her with a warning push of power that scattered down her spine in a thousand crimson sparks. Regrettably, he abandoned his impulsive detour and sank his fingers back inside her.

“Record the interest on my Cayman account,” he said conversationally, like a jerk.

Blossom’s hand shook as she picked up the pen she’d dropped and, miraculously, didn’t disintegrate it with her powers as she wrote down the number he’d previously calculated in his notes. “Can we just—”

“Move on to the next part. I don’t have anything else to disclose under Part III,” he interrupted, quiet but stern.

Tractable and much hotter than she was used to feeling, Blossom pinched her painted lips in a grimace and searched for the next section. Was she so pliant? So easy? No, never, that wasn’t her. She felt out of character, out of body, out of control…

And she _reveled_ in it.

“Part VI. Detailed Information for Each “Other Foreign Asset” Included in the Part II Summary,” she read as he continued to massage her with languid resolve. “Enter a description of the account or asset. If the asset is stock or securities, include the class or issue of the stock or securities.” Blossom’s breathing deepened and frost froze the hairs on the back of her neck, but Brick’s warm lips melted it as soon as it bloomed.

“Example 16,” she delivered with iron goddamned resolve. “You own 100 shares of XYZ Company, an Italian S.A. A sufficient description is ‘100 shares of Class— _ah Brick_!”

He rubbed the pads of his fingers directly over her clit like he was out to unravel her, and he was absolutely succeeding as she lost her tenuous grasp on reality and shame and pushed back with Super strength. His free hand abandoned her hair and flew to her hip to lock her in place. Pressed flush against the growing bulge in his pants, Blossom tossed her head back on his shoulder and _whimpered_.

His voice in her ear was honey over hot iron. “You’re fucking _soaked_.”

Rare were the occasions when Blossom lost her head. She’d lost more than that when Brick walked back into her life after years out of sight, out of mind. But she had long ago accepted that a part of her had always belonged to him and always would, until the demise even their deified powers couldn’t save them from caught up to them, as it catches up to all mortals.

But for now, she could lose what remained of herself in his strong arms and that wicked mouth that challenged her dominance even now. Especially now, as she let him hear her pleasure while he fucked her with his fingers.

“I’m not clear on that last bit,” he said in that same, smooth baritone because he was once a villain and would never let her forget it.

Blossom snapped the pen like a twig and shoved her hips back against him. “One hundred shares of _Class D stock_.”

His laugh was not so smug anymore as long as she could feel his erection straining against the small of her back. “That’s my girl.”

He gave her exactly what she needed with a few serious strokes that snapped the taut coil in her belly and had her spilling her pleasure in his hand and her voice to the farthest corners of the room. Writhing, Blossom’s legs threatened to give out until Brick’s hands steadied her hips and wrenched her ponytail once more. His damp fingers left a dark stain on her skirt that she could not have cared less about right now.

She made a haphazard attempt to shove the ordered piles of paper and notes away, but gave up a couple seconds later when he’d gotten his belt unbuckled and entered her completely without hesitation. Blossom choked on a wanton sob and arched lower over the table to give him a better angle.

Behind her, Brick finally began to crack in earnest. “Fuck, Blossom… I’m not going to last—”

Blossom pushed back to meet his thrusts, her knuckles smoking with pink power as she held her angle and thanked their foresight for bolting this table to the ground in case of spontaneous Super sex after midnight on a Wednesday.

She smiled, euphoric, as their power mingled and she felt him near his brink. “So don’t,” she dared him, and floated off the floor and inch for a deeper angle.

Brick made a choking sound and came hard with his fingers knotted in her hair. Breathing hard, it took him a minute to recover from his stupefied high. Blossom hummed and sat up on her elbows as he slowly pulled out and adjusted his pants.

“Were you really listening to the instructions?” Blossom asked, pushing her sweaty and fast-freezing bangs out of her face.

Brick looped an arm around her waist to pull her against him. “Were you?”

His fingers brought her jaw in line with his, and he kissed her as deeply and longingly as a man who had much more than simply the carnal urge for release on his mind. The tax forms were hopelessly disheveled across the table’s surface.

She looped her arms around his neck. “Not really. We may have to go over them again.”

“Mm.” His red eyes were a dark carmine in the low lamplight, and Blossom felt her heartbeat quicken all over again to have his full and undivided attention.

“It’s after 1 a.m.,” she said.

“They’re not due until Monday.”

“Plenty of time to go over the numbers again.”

He chuckled, low and thrilling. “Only you could get me hard over following rules.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

His eyes fell to her lips. “The return’ll take up the whole weekend.”

“Well, I do have bootcamp with Bubbles on Saturday—”

“Skip it.” He gave her ass a promising squeeze, and Blossom gasped softly. “Some rules are better off broken.”

“You’re terrible,” she accused, as she often did.

“I’m right,” he returned in familiar, teasing kind.

“So you are.” She rose up on her toes to kiss him one more time. It would be a tired night and an early morning back to work, and the weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

After all, they still had the rest of Form 8938 to fill out.

**Author's Note:**

> That tax form is a real IRS tax form the I read carefully in its entirety all in the service of accurate simping. I copy-pasted the most titillating parts of the instructions into this fic. The shit I do for this ship, y’all…
> 
> Happy holidays! 


End file.
